


You Can't Evict an Idea

by plinys



Series: five hundred twenty five thousand six hundred minutes [2]
Category: Les Misérables (2012), Les Misérables - All Media Types, Les Misérables - Victor Hugo
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-06
Updated: 2013-02-06
Packaged: 2017-11-28 10:18:35
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 934
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/673299
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/plinys/pseuds/plinys
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“You really believe in this stuff don’t you?”</p>
<p>“Of course.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	You Can't Evict an Idea

**Author's Note:**

> So this is a bit of a prequel to where the rest of the oneshots should be taking place, because I just wanted to set up the foundation for the start of their relationship. Also there's no RENT song tie in, so yeah...

The first time that Grantaire had seen the other man had been in the Café Musain. 

Grantaire had been new to the city at that point, getting drinks with Bahorel, and trying to figure out what he was going to do with his life now that he was in New York. His teaching job wasn’t exactly the most entertaining job, but it was enough to get him a decent apartment in a decent part of town. Still,it was the type of job that ended with him needing to go out and drink and take his mind off of his failed future prospects. 

The alcohol hadn’t always worked as a distraction, but that man standing on the table drawing the attention of the entire café served as just the distraction that he had been seeking.

“Who’s that,” Grantaire had asked him companion, but Bahorel had just shrugged his shoulders.

“He calls himself Enjolras,” Bahorel said as he knocked back another drink, “part of that bohemian crowd.”

“Fascinating.”

There was something about him, the way that he took the stage that inspired something within Grantaire. Though it had almost nothing to do with the words that he was saying. Grantaire could care less about anarchy and political rights. He for one was a strong believer in the fact that change was impossible, but watching Enjolras talk almost gave him something to believe in. If anybody could make a change it would be this one, this boy, whose cheeks flushed with passion and protest, who couldn’t pay for the cup of tea in his hands, but still demanded that people acted out and stood up for what they believed in. 

It had been the second time that they ran into each other that Grantaire had actually bothered to say anything. 

He had been intending to head to the Café Musain and meet up with some acquaintances for drinks, but all of those plans seemed to fall stop when he saw Enjolras taping up filers to the walls around Alphabet City. 

“You can’t evict an idea,” Grantaire read off one of the posters with a small tsk to his tone, but it was enough to catch the blonde’s attention and that was all that mattered.

“That’s right,” Enjolras said as he turned around to look at Grantaire.

He had the spare posters clutched tight to his chest with a role of duct tape around on of his wrists and a worn red hoodie that hung half off one of his shoulders. He looked positively perfect, in the simplest of ways. Grantaire could feel himself itching for a pen or his paints just looking at the man before him. 

“Is that supposed to be some sort V for Vendetta reference,” he asked had finally asked in response to the eyebrow that he been raised in his direction.

“It’s part of the occupy movement,” Enjolras supplied before he pulled one of the fliers from his stack and handed it over to Grantaire. 

His blank expression must have been obvious, because in a second Enjolras was explaining everything from the oppression of the ninety-nine percent to the unfair tax cuts that the upper class was receiving. Grantaire hadn’t exactly meant to tune him out, but really he didn’t have an interest in any of this protesting nonsense. Still, he had the common decency to nod his head along and hold back from interrupting if only so he could stay in the good graces of such a fascinating young man. 

“It’s the idea that our political structure should serve us – all of the people – not just the wealthy,” he said, and there it was again, the same passion that seemed to flush his pale cheeks coming out now in the cold New York air. 

Grantaire was dumbstruck. 

“You really believe in this stuff don’t you?”

“Of course,” he said earnestly, “you don’t?”

“I saw you at the Musain the other night,” he said quickly to change the topic away from his own opinions, “you were giving some speech about,” Grantaire paused, “something.”

He honestly couldn’t remember what it had been about. At the time, he had been more interested in Enjolras, who had looked like something akin to a classical god.

Luckily, it didn’t seem to matter either way, because Enjolras was more than happy to speak about the injustices in the world. 

“They were overcharging us,” he had said with a look of annoyance, “it wasn’t the first time either.”

“Why do you go back then?”

“Joly – a friend of mine – his girlfriend works there.”

So that explained that, and if nothing else, it gave Grantaire a bit of hope that if he continued going there he would see Enjolras again.

“You never answered my question,” Enjolras said after a moment as the silence had stretched on between them. 

“No.”

If the passionate look was attractive, than the confused look was cute, there was something about the way he furrowed his brows together, like he was trying to read far more into that one word than was necessary. 

“You could try to convince me though,” Grantaire said after a moment’s pause. 

“Come to my protest.”

“Is that an invitation?”

“Technically it’s a flier,” he said with the ghost of a smirk and Grantaire was sold on look alone.

“I’ll be there,” he said with a wide smile back, two sets of blue eyes meeting for a brief moment that made Grantaire want to do so much more with Enjolras than just watch him protest, but there would be time for that later.

At least, he hoped that there would be.


End file.
